


Baby, it’s cold outside

by eymelee



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, written for the DBD Discord 50k Creativity Contest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 13:28:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20340880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eymelee/pseuds/eymelee
Summary: The misfortune of being shirtless in a snowy realm - enter David King.





	Baby, it’s cold outside

As the heavy ache in his lungs subsides, David’s breathing evens out and his eyes focus on the campfire’s steady flicker once again. Head propped up by both of his hands, he hears the other survivors getting up and ready for action, knowing without looking up what is to come; the Trial is calling for survivors once more and it makes David utterly miserable.

Last game had him running a lot. Someone always seemed to need constant babysitting from the killer while his other teammates required help with generators and hooks in exact opposite corners of the map. He often ponders on why his fellow survivors are so terrible at, well, surviving. Some of the girls at least, such as Nea and Claudette, have been at it for longer than he has, yet they insist on approaching the trials ‘with caution and team play’. Personally, he'd rather rot on a hook.

As soon as they passed the exit gate’s threshold to safety, the man was left panting, huffs escaping him rapidly. It did not help that his shirt was hugging his sweat-clad skin, adding to his overall lousy mood.

Now, The Entity is calling upon them once again and David collects himself, wipes his wet brow with the back of his hand and blinks the blurriness away. There's no avoiding it. He wants to dispose of his wet shirt in favor for something dry but clothes don’t come easy in this place. There are a couple of cool jackets available for him to use -- though, they don’t tempt him as of now. The next trial’s preparation time is almost up, he can feel it, together with the pressure that comes with it. He broods over different combinations of items and perks for the upcoming trial, but reaching a decision proves to be hard. So as the inevitable approaches, in a brilliant moment of critical thinking, David readies himself up with his most trusted perks - and without his shirt.

It feels good, breezy. The man can finally take a much-needed deep breath. As the fog envelops all the players, he thinks he heard Claudette let out a surprised squeak at the sight of his naked upper body. 

When the mist eventually parts, David blinks twice in surprise. For the first time, The Entity hasn’t cleared it out properly. Had someone thrown in a Murky Reagent and he didn’t notice? Even though his eyes are still somehow blurry, he can make out plenty of white patches all around him. He takes a deep breath in order to compose himself. The air pierces his lungs when he inhales, and David struggles to let it out. When he finally does, his breathing is shaky and it comes out in white puffs.

Just then, two things hit him at once: a freezing gust crashing into his shirtless torso giving him goosebumps, and the realization that all the white surrounding him is in fact, snow. His hand flies to his chest as the man takes in the scenery. He is standing before a huge wooden structure - a cabin of some sorts, with icicles hanging from the roof while abandoned skiing equipment litters the whole place, huge nets thrown over wood-slat jungle gyms. David takes a few steps forward, feeling disoriented, the ground under his feet a mixture of frozen but also barren patches of dirt. 

He advances slowly towards the center of the map when suddenly a freezing _something_ collides with his back. For a brief panicked moment, David suspects a lucky hatchet has found its mark, yet he mysteriously remains standing. It does not hurt to be cautious though, so the man drops into a crouch and awaits the song of the Huntress. 

It does not come. The only song is sung by the wind, playing violent notes which reach the tips of his cold ears. David surveils all the openings and paths leading away from his position when he spots her: Nea Karlsson, methodically constructing snowballs behind a pallet. There’s the real killer, he muses. The young woman looks up from her duty and has the audacity to smirk at him, on top of throwing another handful of snow in his direction. As of now, David has had enough of things hitting him. He grabs some hard crunchy snow with his bare hands and for a moment, is surprised by the burning feeling it causes. Tossing it towards Nea -- who has been ready for another round -- sparks a challenge between the two, yet their fight is cut short by the sound of approaching footfalls and the scent of sweet incense. So it seems The Plague is their opponent this time. Nea makes a run for it as soon as the heartbeat resounds, Urban Evading away and David just has to flip her off. 

The jiggling of the thurible increases in volume and since David is equipped with No Mither, he bites down on his tongue to muffle the grunts of pain. He feels quite incapacitated, both by his perk and environment. With the wind slicing at his exposed skin, the scrapper slowly moves away from the wandering killer and diminishing heartbeat, without being caught.

Even though he put a certain distance between himself and his possible captor, David doesn’t luck out and runs straight into Viscounti, who is cheerfully cleansing a lit totem nested in the tufts of grass springing from the snow. He settles in a crouch behind the man, licking his sweaty lips, awaiting the imminent sound that will reveal their position to the killer. Once the bones that assemble the totem are broken apart, Ace turns around to face him but freezes on the spot at the sight of the man literally freezing in his face. The gambler peeks over his glasses -- seriously, who wears sunglasses in foggy realms -- his reaction going from mildly shocked to a shit-eating grin, his eyebrows deliberately raised; and then the bastard whistles, a continuous sound which blends with the steady howl of the wind. David narrows his eyes at him, judging him tenfold. 

The combined sounds are enough to alert the killer, The Plague emerging from the fog as her disfigured gaze lands on her prey, lingering on David. As if on cue, she readies her projectile vomit attack, assuming that an already wounded survivor won’t give her too much trouble. The scrapper takes advantage of his trusted Dead Hard to avoid getting sprayed by vomit and to put some distance between them but The Plague is persistent, her ragged coughs loud as he enters the chase.

She trails after him. Around the map, looped pallets get eventually dropped, smart jukes are pulled through, loud generators come to life and David’s heavy breathing is sawing at his throat, his mind screaming at him to take some course of action before the bloodlust of the chase prevails.  
In passing, he hears his teammates working on the generator inside the shack which urges him to change his escape route. He heads inside, quickly vaulting the window. 

It’s a cheap tactic, completely disrespectful to his team but at this point, David couldn’t care less. He has been keeping the killer distracted enough, it’s someone else’s turn now. Just like he expected, he spots Claudette and Viscounti repairing the generator and makes a dash towards them, The Plague hot on his scratch marks. The killer gets distracted for a split second by the multiple survivors gathered in one place, yet her hand does not falter, the censer is swung with purpose and David gets downed on the icy, wooden floor. 

“Leave me on the ground, ya’ bloody giraffe bastard,” the fighter mutters, waiting for the chance to make good use of No Mither. 

When the heavy noise of a pallet dropping sounds, The Plague snaps her attention on Ace who skillfully tea bags behind the pallet in cause. The killer moves to kick the almost-completed generator, but takes the gambler’s bait and fuelled by annoyance, forgets about David and switches targets. She exits the building, the heartbeat decreasing in its intensity and this gives Claudette enough time to enter the shack and help with his healing. The other survivor looks as if she’s judging him hard for putting the whole team in danger. As soon as her bare cold palms touch his heated back, David lets out a high-pitched cry at the sensation, which in turn makes his healer jump in surprise. A deep flush climbs colors her face while David’s morphs into a scowl, trying very hard to hide his embarrassment. 

The stern advice that follows is quite awkward, Claudette reminding him of the importance of treating your teammates with respect and playing safe. After a few more moments of healing, David gets up the floor and leaves the shack and the generator to the botanist. 

Back to being exposed to the elements of nature, David wills his thoughts into something relatively positive, despite his earlier failure. The windburn he feels in his cheeks distracts him, yet he believes this whole endeavour, if successful, will make him stronger than ever. The cold not only trains him physically but he can gain a lot of mental strength. All in all, he should take advantage of this whole experience.

He relays his contemplation to Nea, as she passes by him, and challenges the urban artist to follow his example and try out exposing herself to the cold.

“Dude, you are literally hugging that fire barrel for warmth,” she mocks him. “Your lecture ain’t for me, thanks anyway, but I’m good in my jacket.” She says as she crouch walks away. David hisses at her for being awfully immersed while Nea flips him off in return for earlier. 

Another generator is completed nearby. Even if Claudette advised him to lay low until the gates are powered, David does not heed her guidance. He’s standing still, his fingers growing numb from inaction, with the knowledge that he hasn’t been hooked yet. He decides that another chase will spice things up and so, he intentionally drops pallets and loudly jumps over windows, painting a target on his bare back. 

All the noise he is causing seems to attract The Plague’s attention, as her ornate headpiece glints from afar, getting closer. David waits unnaturally composed, skin tingling all over as the incessant heartbeat beats louder and louder in his ears. The killer approaches and upon spotting the still survivor, tilts her head to one side. And then the second chase commences. The man breaks out into a run around the snowy boulder, hand clutching his abdomen as The Plague slows down to prepare a bile attack. There’s a miss, a couple of windows are jumped, a pallet drops and another clutch juke spares David from getting puked on. The chase is exhilarating, the scrapper feels like he’s going to live forever.

Until a swing brings him to the ground once more. There’s something about dropping face first on the muddy snow of the mound that David does not enjoy. The last generator is completed just then, the exit gates being hastily open by his teammates. The killer is placidly waiting, the broken cable cars towering above them. She seems to be considering her course of action in the end game, and David prays she won’t go camping.

The Plague shakes her head slightly after a few moments and David dreads what’s to come. He is yanked by the waistband of his trousers and placed heavily on the killer’s shoulder, his attempts at getting off faltering as he notices where his captor is heading. She strolls towards the chalet in the middle where, through the crumbled wall and down the stairs, the dreadful basement lies. David bitterly contemplates on his slim chances of escaping this trial, yet he can’t seem to have any regrets -- it’s a fitting end. 

The Plague, toting her prey along, enters the building as David feels the aching tingle of his warming fingers. He is helplessly wrestling his way out of her hold when, all of a sudden, the killer swerves away from the basement stairs. David can’t quite believe it; his head jerks back and he tries to catch the facial expression of his captor but he is unsuccessful as the angle won’t allow it. As she steps further inside, The Plague unloads her shoulder baggage, which consists of a bulky 200-pound man. He lands with an oomph, but to his surprise, the ground is not cold, neither it’s hard. David takes a moment to realize where he is seated: in the exact middle of the cabin, down on the cushions which surround the indoors fire pit. Quite cozy, his mind supplies. The fighter’s head draws back slightly, looking up at the killer.

The Plague spends another several seconds watching over him and when they make eye contact, David swears she is wearing an amused, yet gentle expression behind her veiled face. She moves away, probably to smack another survivor down and violently fasten them on a bloody meat hook. As the threatening heartbeat lessens, David’s own spikes up. His cheeks feel hot, and he is not certain it’s from the fire. 

He closes his eyes and lets the warmth creep into his frigid skin. As it is, something else has warmed up inside as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally for the DBD Discord writing contest, it didn't make the cut sadly but I enjoyed writing this nevertheless!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
